I’m posting this piece written by my friend Pete. He’s my age, but has had far more to struggle with, starting with Spina Bifida and a number of other chronic conditions. Most of his family has died, he is disabled, and has to live with a plethora of indignities while scraping to get by and have a small measure of comfort. In spite of all of that he has a sense of humor.

That’s mostly what he writes, makes videos, and records audio clips about: the stupidity and hilarity of life.

But this piece is much more introspective. It’s short, but punchy.

Enjoy.

**********************

Self Portrait Selfie, courtesy Peter Prosser.

I’ll die.

And that’ll be the end of it. I’ll just be another corpse in a grave somewhere, like all of the other billions of people throughout history. Because – I’ll be honest with you, it was kind of a weird little awakening that happened not that long ago… a year, maybe six months ago – when I actually realized that I’m no better than anybody else. You think about all the billions of people who lived. Think about all the cool people who lived one hundred years ago who we never got to meet, you know? You know there were some cool fucking characters in our lifetime that were just idiots but you were happy to just have engaged in life with them. There had to be some one hundred years ago. Now imagine two hundred years ago, three hundred, a thousand…

Think about the cool people throughout history who were there just making jokes and shit. Think about the jokes they made a million years ago! When I think about it from that perspective it feels like I missed out on a lot of stuff. I just wasn’t privy to it, you know?

Now, granted, it is irrelevant, all of it.

But you see all of the dead – these mummies and skulls and shit – and you realize, “these are fucking people who had lives and did stuff!” They WERE. And now they are not. And you’re just the same damn thing.

I picture it: there’s going to be a time when I’m fucking dead. There’s going to be about six guys standing over this fucking bed trying to lift me on to a gurney to get me down the fucking stairs. There’s probably going to be dog poop on the floor and they’re probably going to have to step over it. I think about stuff like that.

And, of course, the kitchen is a mess. They’re going to see that. The cousins will come in and say, “OH!” and they’ll try to clean it up quick because there’ll be people coming in and out, and it’s going to be…

I think about stuff like that, you know?

I am no better than anybody else.

When they’re eighteen, everybody has delusions: “I love Jesus and I’m a Republican; let’s go save the universe!” But the universe says, “FUCK YOU,” and it beats you down. It kicks you in the fucking nuts and you’re out of it. The next thing you know you’re bitter and dead inside.

I had that recurring dream again last night. You know what it’s about – the same fucking shit. It pisses me off, because what could have been could have been great… but what is is bullshit. It made me dead inside. It literally made me dead inside. God wanted to give me some sort of trial and tribulation and what it amounted to was a kick in the nuts. What it did was make me fucking bitter. I blame God. It was God’s fault. That whole thing was God’s fault. It’s fucking obnoxious and it pisses me off. Straight up pisses me off.

People wonder, “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” What the fuck do I have to offer? I have less than half of a house. I have half of a house and a dick I haven’t seen in twenty years. What the fuck do I have to offer somebody, seriously? I’m not saying that to boo-hoo, it’s just a matter of fact. I don’t even own the half of a house; I just have the right to live here. That’s it: the right to live here. That’s all I was given. What goes on in the house, I have no say on. They could paint it turquoise and put up dildos out in the front yard. I have no say in any of it.

So what do I have to offer somebody, a messy fucking apartment? A dog who poops on the floor every day? I can barely walk! What do I have to offer somebody? Nothing. Again, I’m not saying this in a poo-poo sort of way, but just saying it like it is. It is what it is.

Then I have to come on Facebook and see all of these stupid people talking about God, God, God! These motherfuckers wouldn’t know God if He kicked them in the dick. I don’t think Jim Bakker would know Jesus if Jesus punched him in the fucking face, right in that stupid little beanie mouth of his! Not if He punched his fucking little teeth right down his fucking little bean-tip head.

(I say all of this sarcastically, not hurtfully.)

Pat Robertson: “Oh, Jesus spoke to me, Jesus spoke to me!” No, Jesus said you’re a fucking idiot, Pat! Go fuck yourself! Most of these motherfuckers wouldn’t know Jesus if He kicked them in the dick. “Oh, Jesus spoke to me!” they say. Well, Jesus spoke to me and told me I needed twenty grand! Give me my twenty grand!

I really should set up a Patreon, by the way. Though I really don’t like begging for money. It’s obnoxious. I’d rather be broke and dead. Granted, whoever is around will end up being the caretaker of whatever happens to my corpse. Still, I don’t want to leave that burden on somebody.

You know?

**********************